M: “So, I was at my father’s apartment changing his bed linens on Saturday, and I said, You know, Mrs. De Luca thinks we’re always mad at each other. He said, Why the hell would she think that? I said, She thinks we talk mean. He said, Tell that old biddy to go back to fussing at her damn cat. I said, Do you need me to do anything else around here? He said, No, thanks. Get the hell out of here and go have some fun. I said, You do know I love you, don’t you, you old bastard? He said, Why are you being so nice to me? Did the doctor call? Am I dying or something?”